


Keys and Strings

by Bandicoot



Series: Keys and Strings Series (Post-5x12) [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (click 'next work' when you get to the correct part... you'll know when), Arkham Memories, Bickering, Body Worship, Canon Compliant, Crying, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Eating Together, Edward Nygma's Origami Penguin, Edward's Father (mentioned), Edward's Mother (mentioned), Escaping Together, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Holding Hands, Hugs, I used Cory's dream of wanting to be a pianist and applied it to Ed because I can, Implied Sexual Content, Jim's in a scene too, Loneliness, Lucius and Alfred are there for a moment and they kinda ship it, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, My Mother Looks Over Me, Past Child Abuse, Penguin's Lullaby, Piano, Pining, Possessive Oswald Cobblepot, Post-Episode: s05e12 The Beginning..., Protective Edward Nygma, Season/Series 05, Sexual Tension, Sharing Clothes, Switching, Symbolism, Teasing, The Iceberg Lounge, There's a NSFW fic I've written that acts like, Thirsty Edward Nygma, We'll Meet Again by Vera Lynn, a missing chapter if you wish to read it, playing music, self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22706131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bandicoot/pseuds/Bandicoot
Summary: As Edward drew closer, the colours danced for him, the flickering of light present, then seemingly eaten by the darkness. He examined the piano strings that would lay dormant under the piano's lids when closed, hidden from the world. He inspected each one, knowing that each possessed the ability to create a beautiful melody, knowing what its vital organs looked like as if it were a dissection, and how each piece was connected. It made him think of a harp settled on its side, the musician an angel, as he grazed the assortment of keys being offered to his yearning fingers.An exquisite thing.(Takes place during and after 5x12).
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: Keys and Strings Series (Post-5x12) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695457
Comments: 76
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic I started last year and didn't do anything with, so I decided to attach it to an idea I've been having.
> 
> I'm really soft for piano Nygmobs, and after the finale, I like to think they play and sing together again. :)
> 
> Italics = thoughts/emphasis on words during dialogue.

Edward wished the grip around his arm would loosen up, just a little. The way those fingers dug into his coat was way past unnecessary. Edward had made it perfectly clear that he was not looking for conflict after this man had knocked out the cop in the elevator with them both. This man donned a cop's uniform, but Edward knew something bigger was happening here, and he did not know if that frightened him, or reassured him.

As he was taken outside, a limo sat waiting for them. Edward made a pathetic attempt of escaping, which only resulted in the grip on his arm to tighten. He hoped no bruising would take hold of his skin after this encounter. The click of the door as it opened hit Edward's ears, a pang in his heart to what awaited himself inside, half expecting the barrel of a gun at his head as soon as he was seated, which for Gotham, would not be unlikely. Without much consideration, the man shoved him inside, slamming the door in his face.

“Edward Nygma.”

That unmistakable voice sets alight the hairs on Edward's arms, goosebumps sky-rocketing up his skin, until they had reached his neck. The insides of his chest dispersed, failing to settle around his organs that kept him alive, his very blood wanting to escape the layers of his skin, draining himself dry of this shame that was all too eager to make its presence known.

It had been far too long.

As he turned, his eyes full-blown, meeting Oswald's own gaze, far too calm for Edward to make sense of. Edward figured he must look so small right now, a timid creature of extravagant green to fool prying eyes of his insecurities while also keeping predators at bay. Oswald sought no desires to be too demanding in colour, robed in expensive purple fit only for a king, and oh, was Edward willing to serve.

“It is very good to see you.” That knowing smile. Warm. Confident. Only Oswald could pull it off.

“Oswald.” It was but a whisper. Even Edward had not realized he could sound so... delicate. Only for Oswald, who even now is too far away for Edward's liking. He edges closer, just slightly. “I thought you were behind this.”

“I'm not. But, I thought you might need some help. And... what else are friends for?” Oswald chuckled, and Edward only saw fit to join him.

“You look well,” Oswald comments, gesturing to Edward's physic. Arkham took some pity on him it would seem.

“You too,” Edward replied, his voice gruff with honesty, because it was true, Oswald did look good. Edward's self-control was lost on him as his eyes fell downward, settling on Oswald's stomach. Things had certainly changed, but not for the worse. “A little thicker in the middle.”

As Edward examined Oswald's face, chuckling at him with the affection of both new and nostalgic, Oswald does not respond well to the comment, his eyes following where Edward's gaze had just settled. A plump, round tummy. After all this time, it seemed that Edward felt the need to voice the obvious fact that Oswald had put on weight. Oswald was at a loss for words, his insides tingling with embarrassment, the feeling of his physical being having shrunk in size to the shy, tiny bird that Edward always saw him as. Weak. Emotional.

“Damn, it's good to see you, Oswald,” Edward adds, a little more sensual than intended, a tiny speck in the back of his mind telling him to tone down a little. They had only just reunited, and yet, what was really holding him back?

Oswald swallowed his insecurities, finding himself chuckling in sync with his old friend. Fifteen years they had technically known each other, ten of them stripped from the other's company. Fate had always brought them together in the past, only to cruelly keep them apart for so long. Both of them were keen to fill that void of nothingness with new memories, to learn all they could from the other in the ten years they were apart. No secrets, save for perhaps a few. Only then could they truly say that they had known each other for those additional ten years, and in the end, that was all that mattered. They were not allowed to be strangers to each other, but close friends, allies, and if the opportunity presented itself, perhaps something more.

Edward hoped to think so.

Fate, as ever, loved to tip the bowl every now and again, deciding to drop an oversized bat on the roof of the limo.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edward swore he could hear someone saying his name, as he was experiencing a lucid dream. Whoever was saying it sounded like they were behind a thick layer of fog and static, their voice not carrying over so well. Edward's mind drew closer to the voice, each step rewarding him with slightly less disturbance.

“Ed! Edward!”

Was that worry he could hear? The pain in his head was beginning to form. Oh right, that thing that came out of the sky just after the crash. Was he a prisoner? And what was he feeling around his fingers?

“Eddie! Are you okay!? Answer if you can hear me!”

_Oswald?_

His eyes flash open, disoriented, met with little else than a boring brick wall and below his dangling feet, the ground.

“What?”

“Ed! Oh thank God you're okay. You had me worried there for a while.”

“We're... tied to a lamppost?”

“Thank you Ed, for pointing out the obvious. Just wait until I get my hands on that overgrown freak! Who the HELL does he think he is!? He clearly does NOT know who I am, because as soon as I'm down from here, he is a DEAD man! I will not be made an example of!”

Some things never change.

It could be endearing if it was not for the fact that they were both tied up by a lamppost together. A certain amount of panic swims throughout Edward's body. Not like this, they had only just gotten back together after a decade?

_Together...?_

Only then does he notice Oswald grasping at his hand.

“Um... can I have my hand back?” he asked sheepishly. What the hell was going on?

As soon as the warmth leaves him, he hates himself. He could have said nothing, allowed it to happen, but then, that would not be fair. Would it?

“Sorry! You were out-cold so I tried to get you to wake up. My apologies.”

Some of the warmth remains, however.

“Apology accepted. And don't worry Oswald, that thing will get his comeuppance soon enough.” He cannot be sure if it is a lie or not, uncertainty racking his brain at how the hell they were going to get out of this mess.

“I have a knife in my right sock. If I could get it free, maybe it could get us down!”

“That's great Ed, but how do you plan on getting it when we're TIED UP!? Wait for someone to come along to reach into your sock to retrieve it!?”

Edward tried not to take it personally, knowing how Oswald operated, masking his dread with sarcasm and anger, in the only way Oswald knew how.

“You got any better ideas?”

The only reply he receives is more wiggling from his partner in crime, agitated huffs and puffs in a fruitless frenzy Edward knows is true. He lets his eyes wander the streets, looking for something, anything, that could help them, but coming up empty. It was completely dead.

“Oswald!” He snaps, turning his head as much as he was allowed to in this position. “Stop wiggling! Let me think...”

“No! I want down from here RIGHT NOW so I can skin the one who put us here alive!” Oswald barks back.

“Well you flapping your feathers won't accomplish that, so quit it.”

“Ugh, fine!”

Silence befalls them for a moment, giving Edward the time to think something up. He could not help but notice how close he was to the lamppost's stem. Perhaps luck was in after all.

“I have an idea! Oswald, can you swing in sync with me so I can get closer to the lamppost? If I can wrap my legs around it and bring my legs closer to my hands, I might be able to fish my knife out.”

“It's worth a try! Alright, tell me when.”

They both mentally prepare themselves, Edward's legs at the ready as to avoid an unfortunate injury with said post colliding with the space between his legs. He had to time this correctly.

“Okay... Aaaand, swing!”

The two build up a swing, each time adding more speed and distance that may as well save them from this insulting predicament. With enough momentum, a window of opportunity is granted upon Edward, quickly hooking his slender legs around the pole in an embrace. As expected, his feet were now more level with his chest, within arms reach of his stashed away blade. The problem was that holding himself up in such a position, as well as the added weight of Oswald at his back, proved too much for his feeble legs, releasing themselves from the illuminated pole.

“Nonono, just hang... one... sec!”

The added panic resulted in a sloppy attempt of having any success, his ankles giving way, practically throwing the duo back into the street, an offering for gravity to do away with them.

“Ed! What the hell!?”

Edward cursed himself, seeing no way out of this.

“I'm sorry my friend, my legs can't hold the weight of both of us,” he confessed, a little shameful.

“Great, so you're calling me fat!” Oswald scoffs, clearly riled at the level he was earlier.

“What? No? I didn't say-”

“I've put on weight Ed! We both know this. You even made a comment about it in the limo.”

“I- Yes, I did. But I didn't mean anything about it!” Why had he not thought about his words more carefully instead of spilling his thirst over the man?

“Then why bring it up?”

'Because it looks good on you,' he wants to say, knowing he cannot. A moment passes between them, Edward knowing the longer he takes, the worse this will end.

“Oswald, this isn't the time!”

“Why, have somewhere you need to be?”

The faint sound of sirens hits Edward's ears first. He was not sure if to feel gratitude or dread, but thankful to be taken away from the conversation that he felt like flinging to the moon.

“Oswald, listen!” he instructed, waiting for Oswald to respond.

“Wonderful!” The tone is anything but friendly. “I get to meet those law-abiding dogs fresh out of Blackgate, give them a free show for their _pathetic_ pea brains to ogle over. This won't stand Edward. News will spread and we'll be laughing stocks. We can't afford our reputations to plummet so soon. We have an empire to run!”

Oswald does not expect either an answer or the silent treatment from Edward, because he understands that either is acceptable. Edward knew all too well the problems this could cause for both of them.

Their eyes look on in the direction of what could only be described as a raucous, the irksome predictability of the GCPD, herding together like sheep to run at the danger like they understood a single thing between them. If they were smart, they would stay clear. Smart sheep do not run towards the wolves.

In a last attempt of breaking free, the pair flounder within their airborne prison, knowing it was almost certainly pointless. Flashes of red and blue dance over the buildings before a swarm of cars pull in to greet the suspended pair, the road quickly filling up with uniforms.

“Down! Get me down!” Edward bellowed, agitated at the thought of being up there a second longer.

“Well now, would you look at that...” a smooth voice calls out humourously, gaining the attention of the villains.

Edward laughs darkly, cocky grin overriding his face as his eyes settle on the only worthy intellectual among the drab personalities here.

“Foxy...” He greeted, the word dragging against his tongue a little flirtatiously, unable to deny the times he had missed a worthy opponent such as Lucius, especially when most of Arkham's residents were well beneath his feet to the point they might as well have been buried beneath the earth.

“Mr. Pennyworth,” Oswald added, counting his stars that Jim is nowhere to be seen. He will not accept that man to snatch another win from him tonight.

“Couldn't wait to tie the knot, as they say,” Lucius chimes, utterly pleased with himself.

“Mr. Fox, I believe the term is 'shacked up',” Alfred comments, the two sharing a snicker between them at the villain's expense.

Oswald's nose scrunches up in disgust.

“Cretins!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filling in the rest of the gaps of 5x12 (including the deleted scene), and the duo have to find somewhere to stay for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics = thoughts/emphasis on words during dialogue.

“You'll pay for this! Mark my word!” Oswald scowled, his whole body floundering as he was cuffed. He took the opportunity to spit in the eye of the officer responsible, before being unceremoniously shoved inside a GCPD truck, practically thrown down towards the inside seats, a discomforting hiss as his disabled leg protested.

“Hey! His leg, idiot!” Edward growled, impulse letting itself known in rare times such as these, Oswald being the cause more times he would like to admit.

“Shut up Nygma.” The officer separates himself from the scene by slamming the doors shut at Edward's bitter expression.

“Morons...”

His undiluted anger spills into a jug, worry sitting at the bottom of it. His own concoction, served only for Oswald.

“You okay?” he asked, his body whizzing around to face any potential damage that pig had done to his partner.

“I'm fine...” Not at all convincing.

_You're not, but..._

Edward decided not to turn this into an unnecessary commentary. The reality was that they were locked up in the back of some worthless GCPD van, to be separated, again.

_Never again!_

“Oswald, we can't be sent away again. Arkham it- I'm not going back there! And you, I-”

_I'll miss you, because you'll be in Blackgate again..._

“Do you have anything to pick the locks with? We have to escape!”

“My tie pin? It's in my trouser pocket.”

“Perfect!” Beaming at even the thought of being rid of this prison on wheels.

Manoeuvring themselves to give Edward's fingers access to Oswald's pocket, his fingers dip inside, brushing against the fabric in search of the metal object. Edward flushes at the thought of feeling around Oswald's thigh. When he thought about wanting to get inside the man's trousers, this was not what he had in mind.

_Focus! Metal, metal, metal... ah ha!_

“I got it!” he exclaimed, examining the piece before proceeding to pick the lock. “Keep still.”

“Where else would I go?”

Edward chuckles at that. “Tie pin huh? Just like old times.”

“I decided to join you this time.”

Being handcuffed behind one's back while trying to pick the lock comes with its challenges. The lack of vision and limited mobility in his wrists was stressing him out, the whole atmosphere dampened, panic dispersing throughout his body if he can manage this in time.

“That... bat thing,” Oswald began, agitation eating away at his skin too. “I can't believe it, the absolute nerve! 'Gotham is mine', that's what he said.”

“I was there Oswald.” Oswald's impeccable timing had limits he supposed.

“I did not spend ten years in Blackgate to give my city to a MAN DRESSED LIKE A BAT!”

Click.

“Yes!”

Relieved to be free of the cuffs, Edward wasted no time unpicking the lock that held his friend captive.

“Go!”

Like Edward needed to be told twice.

“We'll have to jump. Watch your leg.”

“Quit fretting about my leg! Come on.”

“Okay... one, two, three!”

Flinging the doors open, the pair jumped, feet meeting ground in an inelegant display of limbs and the swishing of glittery finery.

Oswald's hat was lost in the commotion, forgotten, the pressure on his leg nearly causing him to swear. He reached out, this routine having been done over many times during the six months before their arrest. Depth perception required aid during at time, and Edward was at his side, the two closer than ever since the days of Mayor and Chief of Staff. They grew comfortable to touch each other again, friendly pats on the shoulder and warm hugs of affection, but never taking it to next level. They both wondered what could have happened if they had not been arrested so soon after the war with Bane.

Edward assists him in standing, both straightening up until they are met with a stranger observing the two, curiosity written all over him, a shade of amusement present too, no idea of the danger he was in.

The villains share a look in sync, words unspoken in a silent understanding after noticing what the man had on his person: one bowler hat, and one umbrella. Perfect. The two glide forward, Edward pulling Oswald along to take what was rightfully theirs, watching the gentleman's face drain itself of the unknown smile as the pair crowded him.

“I'll take that,” Edward says, snatching the hat from the stranger's head, placing on top of his own as he took a few steps back.

“Hey, what-”

Oswald thought it best to handle the situation, deciding to backhand the man across the face.

“We're not asking!” Oswald demanded, claiming the umbrella for himself.

Kings, taking what they want from who they want, the promise they had made each other during their pact all those years ago.

Knowing the man was a witness, it would not be wise to allow him to run to the police, nor would it be to murder him for the body to be found and leave evidence lying around. Knocking him out could cause potential memory loss of any threats.

Nothing else for it.

Oswald rushed forward faster than a man with a limp should do, in the gentleman's face, viscously clutching at his suit.

“Listen to me you washed up simpleton... if you have _any_ sense, you will NOT speak of this night, EVER, because if you do, myself and my partner here will find you. We're very good at this kind of thing. We can find your family, your friends! We can make _your_ life a living nightmare!”

Edward watches with delight at Oswald's melodramatics, how his smaller physique bursts with the overflowing energy Oswald struggles to keep inside himself, the ability to appear bigger, intimidating, not like the little bird people thought him of, who he himself had thought of him. He loved watching Oswald work his magic.

“Tell me, do you know who were are?”

“No I- No, I don't,” the man all but babbled. Pathetic.

“Hmm, well... perhaps count your blessings that you don't, because you don't want to find out. Now, I have but _one_ question to ask you, kind _sir_ , what did you see here tonight?”

Edward found it impossible to hold back the grin twitching at his lips, his cheeks puffed out, teeth aglow, eyes ready to drop out of his face, relishing the sight in front of him. Oswald was a passionate creature, and it frightened Edward as much as it did arouse him.

“Nothing! Nothing at all! Please!”

“Hmph, good answer!” Oswald shoved the unfortunate bystander away from himself like he had the plague, Oswald's message received loud and clear. This idiot will not talk, he could tell. He spun around, face met with a very amused looking Edward.

“What are you smiling at?” he asked, suspicion chipping at his brain.

“Nothing. Just, admiring your work,” Edward shrugged. Not a lie, not the whole truth either. Convenient.

“Well, we got what we came for, let's make haste before someone shows up.”

Eagerness pricked at both of their hairs, the relentless itching to spill the blood of the bat persona that dared make fools of them. News that they kill him would bring their reputations back in order. Fixable, realistic. Fair. Just another fool playing God.

The pair turn a corner, in tow with one another. Oswald's newly acquired umbrella easing his leg enough for him to notice how much he missed having a cane in Blackgate.

“We have to find that flying insect. _Tonight!_ We have to find out who he is, and show him that this is _our_ city!” he blurts, the mannerisms in his arms expressing how pissed he was.

“Agreed,” Edward answered, acknowledging him before his eyes catch the sight of it as he looked forward, gasping and simultaneously shielding Oswald in instinct to protect him before himself. His second nature.

The bat, prancing around on Gotham's rooftops like he owned the damn city, his shadowy silhouette cast in moonlight, owning it like a spotlight for spectators to see.

They both do a double take, Oswald addressing Edward in a silent ask if what he saw really was there, while Edward removed his glasses, half believing it was a hallucination, which while unpleasant, were at least something he had experience on.

“Tomorrow?” he heard Oswald question, feeling the man's eyes on him. The thought of backing down, him, Penguin, hurt the pride in his throat. This required more information, well thought out planning, backup plans, and allies. Blackgate and Arkham were not having them yet.

Revenge could wait another day.

“Tomorrow."

Setting his glasses neatly upon his nose, he lingers to address the bat in a 'this isn't over' attitude, with Oswald slightly more keen to leave.

“Well, so much for that! Still, I won't say no to a good sleep, food, and a place to rest my foot. Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

Oswald grants him a toothy smile.

“One of my safe houses. I had people on the outside keeping some of them afloat. Some were unravelled, pesky GCPD dogs... but, the others survived. I also have the Iceberg Lounge practically up and running again. All it needs is a good manager; me.”

“You own the lounge again!?”

“Huh uh. Practically my second home.”

_Impressive..._

“Well, colour me impressed.”

“Thank you my friend. It'll be good to run an honest business...”

“A hon- ohhhh...” Edward laughed.

“Indeed.”

They walked in a somewhat comfortable silence the rest of the way, but with it held an uncertain presence. Do they talk? Do they carry on saying nothing? Was this awkward? Nice as it was to enjoy the silent company, both wanted to say so much, but not know how. They decided to keep any conversation until they had reached the safe house, both thankful that it was only minutes away.

Oswald addressed the door for a quiet moment, key in hand, but the pull to not let this moment slide. He turns, the softest expression painted his features, from eyes to lips. The first genuine smile Edward has seen in ten years.

“Welcome home Ed.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The duo unwind in the safe house. They eat, they talk, there's some cuteness and a lil sadness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I kinda know what I'm writing for this chapter.  
> Also me: Hohoho! Lil bit of fluff, lil bit of angst, some tropes. Nice.
> 
> Originally this chapter would have ended for a scene that I have planned later, since this safe house scene ended up being longer than expected.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Italics = thoughts/emphasis on words during dialogue.

The confines of the safe house instantly put relaxation in both of their shoulders, some of the weight lifted in their demeanour at the acknowledgement of the bat creature roaming Gotham's streets. Edward slowly inspects the place while Oswald hobbles off in the distance somewhere, something requiring his attention. The place is not too much to look at. Simple, yet convenient, a little place hidden away from eyes that likely will not be looking. Just another dot in Gotham's constellations.

“Ed, I know this is a safe house, but one can never be too sure. My paranoia has kept me alive this long, and with the bat out there, be ready to make a quick escape if need be,” Oswald called out.

Edward was still slowly making his way inside, surveying the room, and the rooms that separated themselves from it with archways.

“I'm listening,” he answered, slowly focusing on his friend from across the room.

Edward watches as Oswald spun round, a device in hand, pushing one of its buttons. What happened next transports Edward to a different era, watching the archway behind Oswald light up a luscious red.

_Oh dear..._

Oswald was still wearing his top hat too, like this was some sort of joke. The song drowned out anything Oswald was saying, its lyrics swimming in his ears, waves of high and low tones in a steady current, and Edward just wanted to be swept away and never found.

How was this fair?

“Ed!?”

“What?”

“You're not even looking! The escape route? Where did you go?”

Oswald was talking to him?

“Sorry.” He chose not to elaborate, even if it meant lying. Now that he thought about it, he does vaguely remember one of Oswald's safe houses in the past lighting up in the same manor when the two were enemies.

Oswald decided not to pry.

“Yes, well, should anyone come find us here, we make haste, preferably together but... Ed, if either of us are left behind, the other leaves, no questions asked.”

_No!_

“What!? Why Oswald? We should stick togeth-”

A held up hand stops him.

“I know. Believe me, I feel the same. But,” Oswald takes a moment, arm still raised as he ponders around the room aimlessly. “it's been ten years Ed, and I'll be damned if both of us are caught just to be locked up again. No, whether it's you or me, one has to get away to devise a plan of operation later to rescue the other. We can't both be caught, because you know no one else will help us. No one smart enough to get the job done anyway.”

It made sense. Edward does not like it, but he knew it to be true. They had to survive, and it was ugly and unfair, but so was being separated in different prisons. What good were each other if both were caged?

“I understand.” Besides, he would be a hypocrite knowing that if it was him who was left behind, he would want Oswald to be thriving on the outside, and he knew Oswald would want the same for him.

Love was about sacrifice.

“Feel free to make yourself to whatever you like. Tea, a change of clothes,” Oswald commented, already shuffling to a nearby chair that had his name of it, plonking his weary body down, begging to chair to swallow him in its softness.

Edward took up a vacant chair, joining his friend for a moment in relaxation. He kicked off his shoes, removed his hat and riddled green coat, slinging the coat over the back of the chair while the hat found solace in a nearby table.

Oswald does the same, taking off his out of date tailored coat that once fit his body, freeing himself from its tight fit, allowing his body to breathe. He threw the coat wherever it should land, causing Edward to raise an eyebrow at him.

“I'll get another tailored for me. That one is... dated.”

Edward opened his mouth to speak until his brain caught up with him. No need to make this personal. The two sat in silence for a moment, relieved sighs in a temporary recharge. After enduring the silence enough, Edward stands up.

“I'll make tea. You want one?”

Oswald lets out a disappointing groan, wiping his face over with a gloved hand.

“What I wouldn't _give_ for a glass of whiskey right now but... I don't currently have any here. Sure, tea will suffice,” he replied, putting on a sad smile, watching Edward leave for the kitchen.

“Have a rummage around in the cupboards too!” he called out from his seat. “It's not amazing but it's practically gourmet to whatever the hell they served in Blackgate. I imagine Arkham was much the same.”

“Yup, same old garbage!” Oswald heard back, the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing, listening to the rustling of food content that Edward finds pleasing; instant pasta.

“Pasta?” Edward asked, already looking for something to go with it. He pulled out a bag of crisps while Oswald replied.

“Sure. You need a hand?”

“I got this. Shall I scrap the tea?” Usually, one would like a cold beverage with a hot meal, especially if the meal was partially sauce or soup-like.

“There should be some cans of soda somewhere. I'll take a Coke.”

Edward ate his way through his bag of crisps while he waited for the kettle to boil, offering Oswald a bag which was accepted. He finished a little before the kettle was done, and proceeds to prepare said meal, that of two bowls of bagged instant pasta; cheese and broccoli flavour. Once that was done, he returned to the... he supposed living room, serving Oswald one of the bowls and placing his fizzy beverage on the table.

“Thank you Ed.” Oswald smiled at him as the bowl was handed to him, the warmth seeping through his still gloved hands. Gotham was often cold, especially at night.

Edward took back his seat, digging into the cheesy goodness. All the food here had to withstand long periods of times. There was no fridge or an oven, but there was a microwave. All food and drinks existed on shelves, the likes of tins, cans, bottles, and bags. Some of it, like the pasta, was quite cheap, easy and convenient. A quick meal. Not wonderful, but to Edward, tasted like heaven.

“Oh my God...” he indulged, savouring for the first time in a long time, actual food. Even the texture was welcomed.

“Good?” Oswald was sure it was a rhetorical question but asked anyway.

Edward hummed in gratification, wolfing it down, taking a sip every now and again of his own Coke.

The two eat mostly in silence, filling their much-needed bellies for the night until Edward was at his last few stabs with his fork in pasta.

“Sorry, about earlier.”

“Hmm?” Oswald answered, mouth full of pasta.

“The... weight thing. I didn't mean to sound insensitive, both times actually. I...”

_What do I say?_

Edward looked at his almost empty bowl, hoping the stray pasta pieces and sauce residue spell out a word for him.

“It's okay Ed, it's forgotten.”

Far from it, but Oswald would prefer not to dwell on it, or at least try to. It was less about what Edward had said and how Oswald felt about what Edward saw when he looked at him.

_Am I a disappointment?_

“Besides, I knew what you meant when hanging from the lamppost. Holding two people up would be hard for a lot of people.”

“That's... true.”

“I wasn't in the best of places, and... the car thing, I... I just connected them, looking for a reason to be angry. I lashed out at you, and I'm sorry.”

“But Oswald, I- the thing is, the comment in the car, I really didn't mean it in a negative way at all. Truly, you're my best friend. It's not an awful look.”

_Shit._

“ _Passable_ you mean.”

_Shit, shit! Fuck!_

“No! I meant-”

_Idiot! You're going to lose him after all this time! Ed, you are so stupid!_

“I meant... that you _obviously_ took care of yourself in Blackgate, and I meant it, back in the car; you _do_ look well.”

_Play it safe._

Edward's comment seemed to have served its purpose, the compliment reaching Oswald's heart in a moment of self-reflection and that it came from Edward.

Let the world burn.

“Thank you.”

Oswald's heart beats a little faster, felt lighter, but his chest tightened. The pulse in his throat began to bother him, his face feeling warmer. He tries to blame it on the warm meal, but knows better, but, perhaps Edward could believe that. Oswald takes a swig of his Coke and finishes the remainder of his meal.

Sleep was the next thing on their agenda, Oswald pointing of that there was only one sofa bed, and Edward insisted Oswald take it because of his leg while he took a chair to sleep in.

The pair take turns picking out some nightwear. Oswald saw to it that some of his henchmen made sure every safe house had clothes that his body could get accustomed to. Unfortunately, he had not taken into account the possibility of Edward being here tonight, of himself being here tonight.

“I don't know if you'll find anything too suitable in there. Sorry, I didn't consider tonight's events to happen the way they did. If push comes to shove, you can remain in your current attire until morning,” Oswald confessed, acknowledging Edward while holding his own picked out clothes in a heap before allowing Edward space to look for his choosing.

“I'd rather not. I'm sure I'll find something.”

Oswald nods, retiring to a room to change while Edward flickers through clothing after clothing, looking for something even semi-suitable for his long build. He pulls out several pieces of clothing, retiring to a free room to try them on until he finds something that will do. What he ends up wearing is as good as he will get, sacrificing a little skin here and there.

_Only for one night..._

A pair of pyjama bottoms and t-shirt, both too short, but otherwise comfortable. His ankles are exposed, some of his stomach too, a couple of scars present. They are both about to sleep, but he wants to wish Oswald goodnight. He crosses his arms over his stomach, hiding the shame from Oswald's view. When he returned, Oswald was already tucked away on the sofa bed, addressing Edward's arrival.

“I just came to say goodnight,” he smiles. The clothes did not do much in terms of warmth.

“Goodnight Ed. Sleep well.”

As Edward nearly disappeared into his chosen room, he spotted the abandoned purple coat of Oswald's on floor. He addresses it for a moment, then looks back at Oswald, or rather, the back of the sofa bed that keeps the man hidden from Edward. Neither can see the other, and Edward takes the opportunity to pick up the discarded garment in secret and retires to his room.

He admired the coat, holding it up in front of him, noticing how the light bounced off the dots of glitter that decorate it like the stars in a purple nebula.

Beautiful.

His grazes two thumbs over the texture, feeling both the smoothness of the material and the loud specks that surround it, adding character. Edward puts his nose to it slightly, taking in the smell.

_Oswald..._

Once his face finds comfort in the fabric, he becomes overwhelmed, not wanting to leave, not yet. He wanted to bury himself in it, in a part of Oswald's life that had been absent from Edward's for too long.

In another life, Edward would be surprised by the tears.

“Oswald...” he whispers, the name on his lips comforting him, like Oswald was in his arms, fearful that if he lets go of the coat, Oswald will disappear.

He pulls back suddenly, his composure gathered up in an acceptable manner. He made his way to the chair that was his bed for the night, sleep calling him yet wanting to do anything but.

As he tried to sleep, his nose snuggles into the coat that he has draped over himself, chin tucked away in its warmth, and sleep claims him sooner than expected in a relaxing slumber.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed had slept in the coat. Oswald wakes up first. Ed wants to hide his scars. It's a little awkward.
> 
> Is that a piano in sight, at the new Iceberg Lounge?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The safe house part in this chapter, and last chapter, as a whole, were longer than expected. I'm happy to be out of that place!
> 
> I use references from Oswald's old Iceberg Lounge, as well as some help from Discord and finding pics online. I hope I described it to your liking.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Italics = thoughts/emphasis on words during dialogue.

As Oswald watched Edward leave his sight, his mind lingered on what he had just seen. While brief, and not at all unwelcome, he wanted to become one with the blanket, hoping his slightly sinful thoughts would suffocate in the heat, his Penguin status shrinking at the sight that was presented to him.

Edward Nygma wearing clothes too short for him. Oswald wanted to kill him.

Thank God for small miracles however, Edward having the decency the cover his middle half the best he could. Then again, why did he? He could have given Oswald a little taste.

Oswald wanted to kill him for that too.

_Damn you Ed..._

If the clothes were tight, he may have just had to.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning was upon them, Oswald grumbling that he had to move from his cocoon. He threw the covers off his frame and proceeded to start up breakfast, whatever that was. Porridge? Not ideal for his personal taste buds, but warm, and nothing else available seemed to jump out to him right now. A convenience food, suitable for safe house storage. Nothing a spot of honey could not fix, or, bearable anyway. He started to prepare coffee, his bowl contents put in the microwave, turning the dial on it while he goes to wake Edward up, a little surprised the man was not up already, more the early bird than the actual bird himself. Oswald surprised himself how easy he was thinking about Edward's past quirks like it was routine. They had not seen each other in so long, and the domesticity was slightly alarming if he had to be honest.

What he had not expected to find when he walked in on Edward was this; Oswald's coat that he had outgrown, wrapped around Edward's torso. The man went from hot to adorable in a flick of a night. Madness. Questionable too, but amusing. Oswald assumed the coat was higher up Edward's body at first, now fallen slightly to rest on his stomach, one hand laid across it, the other tucked to the side of his body. His legs are sprawled out, and Oswald wondered if Edward was warm enough. Oswald takes a moment to enjoy seeing Edward in such a peaceful state, a rarity for the man, all words and tinkering and limbs. The need to wake him so soon not Oswald's top priority right now.

The microwave dinged.

Oswald sighs.

“Ed? Wake up,” he instructed, a gentle tap on Edward's shoulder to help stir the man from sleep.

“Hmm?” Edward murmurs, his eyelashes fluttering cutely, the muscles in his eyes adjusting to his now awoken state. “Oh, Oswald...”

So much for a cold logician.

“Good morning Ed. I trust you slept _well_?” Oswald asked, a tint of an accusing tone there, one that Edward noticed.

“Seems... so?”

Oswald addressed him, a tilt of his head to in an attempt to bait Edward, but no bite comes.

“Why do you have my coat?”

Still half asleep, Edward's inner clock ticks backwards to last night. Oswald's coat, the one he had taken with him, smelled, cried into it, and slept with.

_Oh crud..._

“Oh! Sorry,” he apologized, thinking Oswald might want it back but his body flings it to the side before he had a chance to register the thought properly. He acknowledges that his stomach is now exposed, and hastily covers himself with his arms, knowing Oswald likely saw the scarring. “Do you want it back?”

“No. Do _you_?” Oswald challenges.

“ _No_ ,” Edward pouts.

_Mature._

“I was cold.” It was technically the truth, so he runs with it.

Oswald furrowed his eyebrows, a pout of his own forming.

“Why didn't you just get a blanket?”

“Didn't want to disturb you,” Edward answered on beat, wondering if too quick of an answer would be believable.

“Was this just after you said goodnight?”

Edward knew he did not have a lot of time to dwell on the answer, whichever way he decided to answer it. On one hand, it would not look good on him if he told the truth, seeing as Oswald would still be awake and impossible to disturb yet. On the other, would Edward Nygma attempt sleep without a blanket in a non-summer season? Illogical.

“Yes.”

“I wasn't asleep Ed. I wouldn't have minded if you needed a blanket,” Oswald reassured.

Edward's ears deflate, his heart small but beating loudly.

“Sorry. No, I mean- I figured it would do. And it did. I'm fine. I slept.”

His eyes breathed in new life, a smile offered towards his friend that this conversation was over.

“Alright,” Oswald backs down, not a hundred percent satisfied, but enough for him to leave it behind. “I started breakfast, so get up. And hurry up, it'll get cold,” he added, already walking out the room.

Edward stood, the warmth of the chair leaving him to procure a suitable attire for breakfast. Then he remembered where his clothes were; in the other room he had changed in. Oswald was in the next room, seeing to breakfast, meaning Edward would have to pass him in his current dress. He loathed the scars, seeing himself as damaged, as weak, everything the Riddler is not, even when he was only a child when he gathered them, adding in numbers the next time his father took it too far.

He could cover them like he had the night prior, but his back had not gone unscathed either, allowing Oswald to see to judge and pity. Oswald always spoke so highly of both of his parents, and Edward had nothing to show for his except neglect, fear, and pain.

Oswald dug into his breakfast, seemingly forgetting about Edward until the man entered the room. The porridge on his spoon plopped back into the bowl as his hand grew weak, his energy now at his eyes to absorb what lay in front of him.

Edward was wearing his coat.

Too short, naturally, his arms like noodles, the sleeves sticking close to the elbows. He was covering his stomach again.

“Ed, what-”

“Sorry, I... wanted to look decent. I hope you don't mind,” he answered, hugging himself tighter, a shy smile gracing his tired face.

_Purple looks good on him._

“Oh, of course,” Oswald addressed, gesturing for Edward to join him at the table.

Breakfast goes by with words of last night's events, the Iceberg Lounge, and some business Oswald is due to discuss later that day with some clients. The clinking of spoons and the sipping of coffee fill the air when words do not, emphasizing the awkward atmosphere by appearing too loud, the both of them believing it was just them.

The coat clung to Edward's skin, his arms especially. He regretted not just going straight to where his clothes were to at least change into a different shirt, but he wanted to shower after breakfast, so deemed it somewhat pointless.

Oswald was thinking about having Edward wear more purple.

  


\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  


After breakfast, a shower, and finally becoming one his own attire, he busies himself with trying up the dishes while waiting for Oswald to do the same.

When Oswald is ready, he dials a number into his phone, and the two sit it out until their ride arrives. Destination; the Iceberg Lounge.

The ride was mostly uneventful. Not unpleasant, but Oswald informed Edward that he wanted to show Edward his new place rather than tell. A surprise of sorts, one Edward was happy to find out when they had arrived.

The limo parks out back, hidden from any prying eyes that might spot their signature colours, what with much of Gotham knowing the villain's alliance before their arrest.

Oswald guides Edward through a corridor until he was faced with a door.

“Here we are.”

Oswald had seen photographs of what the inside looked like, giving his input on what designs, materials, and colours he wanted, and where said decor should go, sizing, among other details.

The room comes to life before his eyes like a brushstroke, the colours and intricate designs more in focus on what the photographs lack inability. Impressiveness settled around him, already limping his way to the bar.

Edward followed into the room closely behind Oswald, awe heavy on his mind and tongue at the sheer influence of the place. Black marble tables, some designed for two, some for more, each one intricately fitted with a splash of exploding lines upon its surfaces, giving the impression of cracked ice. Bigger tables were organised diagonally across the room, starting from the centre outwards, while smaller tables remained closer to the walls, while the walls themselves were fitted with black booths that stretched across almost every piece of wall available. All the chairs were marble too, but purple, the cracked design painting its legs, arms, and back of the chair, the inner part of the chairs comforted with padding for customer's leissure.

In each centre of the bigger tables were narrowly thin crystal vases, estimated about thirty inches high, only reaching higher by the ice cube ornament they stood on top of, the cube chipped here and there, adding character. The smaller tables had tiny versions of these, with less impressive vases, but inside all the vases looked to be crushed purple ice, or liquid, Edward could not say for sure, topped off with lilies at their peak. Edward touched a petal, his assumption correct; fake. Saves keeping them watered, and guessed the ice also was not real.

On the walls hung mirrors, also slightly cracked, keeping with the ice vibe. The corners especially, so the mirrors still had a practical use. The ceiling Oswald had kept with the umbrella theme, bulbs inside each. It was a good look. Oswald also kept his love for upside glass umbrella trinkets and an assortment of ice cube ornaments, a few scattered across the room displayed on glass shelves, some behind the bar on cabinets. The bar itself held the same black marble design, lights overhanging in the shape of icicles.

Photographs and paintings also hung on the walls, an umbrella hanging next to each side of the frame, one right side up, the other upside, and both different umbrella makes, each piece of wall following the same pattern. On a few walls, occasionally breaking up the mirror-picture-mirror-picture pattern throughout the lounge, decorated a large neon umbrella sign that would change colours. Blues, pinks, yellows, greens, all colours of the rainbow, its glow casting on the black booths below them. In each corner of the room held giant-sized penguin sculptures. Venetian glass. Oswald spared no expense. The cost of one probably cost ten grand, commissioned too, not to mention shipping fees.

His eyes were then drawn to the grand piano along one of the walls. Every inch of wood that could be was polished with Oswald's signature colour, stray light that ventured too far hitting its surfaces, gleaming in a serenade of colours.

As Edward drew closer, the colours danced for him, the flickering of light present, then seemingly eaten by the darkness. He examined the piano strings that would lay dormant under the piano's lids when closed, hidden from the world. He inspected each one, knowing that each possessed the ability to create a beautiful melody, knowing what its vital organs looked like as if it were a dissection, and how each piece was connected. It made him think of a harp settled on its side, the musician an angel, as he grazed the assortment of keys being offered to his yearning fingers.

An exquisite thing.

Even the stool lacked simplicity. Purple, of course, a brush of velvet at his skin.

The whole place was absolutely Oswald.

“I see you've taken to the piano. Beautiful, is she not?” Oswald smirked, making his way over, two glasses in hand, handing one to Edward, who addresses him sceptically.

“Rather early, don't you think?”

“And?” Oswald throws a hand up for dramatic flair.

Who was Edward to argue, taking up the glass.

“A grasshopper...” he murmurs, eyeing the minty liquid.

“It always was your favourite,” Oswald commented, taking a sip of his own bloodshot cocktail; a Hurricane.

“To new beginnings,” Edward says in oath, extending his arm in hopes the vow will be sealed.

Mutual clinking echoes over their heads, glass meeting glass.

“To new beginnings.”

  


\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  


Oswald had left, his appointment with said clients from earlier needing his attention. It could not be helped, Oswald affirming that he wished it could hold for another day.

Edward understood, business was business, but the ache in his chest would not relent. Oswald confirmed he would be back in two hours or so, the rest of the day being theirs. No big deal.

_I wish Oswald was here..._

He busied himself with looking over the lounge in more detail, including Oswald's office. Luscious architecture, similar to that of the lounge itself, but more cosy, intimate. A few umbrellas stood side by side close to the desk, their purposes unknown for now. Oswald's throne, black, its arms the design of feathers, a bird head at the top of the chair, and on the other side of the room, a miniature purple coach, less gothic, but still in good taste. On the desk, black marble, again, stood a mini Venetian Glass penguin.

_Cute._

When the office had done its job of occupying Edward's mind enough, he sought out the piano, seating himself in preparation, an imaginary spotlight at his core as if playing for an audience. He experientially presses a few keys, his memory and finger muscles rekindling of days he used to play. Both good times and bad times.

Oswald had left a spare android phone in Edward's possession, should Edward need to call. Oswald's first priority was Edward, always.

Edward looked up a piece of sheet music to practice his tips, something simple to gradually fall back into rhythm, playing music he found comfort in it. Arkham never supplied that reality, any musical instrument plucked or blown or banged with no coherency, and worse, being drowned out by the screaming of the insane. In Arkham, music was a hellish memory, but here, Edward could mend the fractured memories he had of music while in there, overriding them with actual talent. His talent!

Ten years was a long time, and Edward knew the sounds would be somewhat choppy and out of tune at first, but an hour in, and he believed he could step it up, and searched for a particular song on the phone to play; 'My Mother Looks Over Me'.

Edward had familiarized himself a little with the piano paddles, studying what works and what does not. He takes to the soft peddle on the left, the easiest paddle of the three as he can remain his foot in place the entire time, adding a slight softness in the producing sounds, the nature of this very song. He uses the damper peddle to carry out an echo on notes that should linger, the music not abruptly stopping. Its magical atmosphere surrounded him, the notes floating away towards the ceiling before evaporating.

No words are ever sung. Too many voices in Arkham have sullied the art, wishing to enjoy music in its purest form, unfiltered, filling his ears with each press of a finger.

He had not heard him come in until the question hit him.

“Why are you playing this song?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuteness alert! ❤️ Apologies if I murder someone (not actually sorry).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter that I'd like, but more is still to come my friends! :)
> 
> Also, first fic to hit 10k!
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Italics = thoughts/emphasis on words during dialogue.

The remaining residue of music ride out alone, no notes following after them in its linear performance, the keys playing their last tune before dying in the silence.

Edward's heart stops for a second, lodged in his throat at his airways. He swallowed it back down to get it back in working order. When he addresses Oswald, they are both back in Edward's apartment from another age, the two being properly acquainted with one another.

Oswald had latched onto his childhood memories of his mother singing that song every night before bed, his mother's words of praise and love bathing him, washing away the cruel remarks that clung to his skin at what the other children had said to him. Her special boy. He had hummed it to himself, blanketed himself in a protective shield from the outside world. He could not be hurt. He was safe.

Then Edward had begun playing it, coaxing the injured bird to open up to him, to trust him. Edward was merely a fledgling, finding his own wings in the world, hoping Oswald would take him under his.

One wrong statement could have cost Edward his life. The subject of Oswald's mother was a delicate matter, especially then when wounds were still fresh, the pain cutting deep into Oswald's skin and heart. An understanding was made, and the two had bonded, partially with the aid of music at breakfast time, singing that very song, followed by the eventual murder of Mr. Leonard.

What would Oswald think now though? The arrival back at the lounge was way too early, border-lining on suspicious in his mind.

“Oswald, I- I didn't expect you back so soon,” he confessed, feeling the tail between his legs. “I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable with that song. Sorry.” Shame and regret force him to look away, eyeing the keys in front of him in question, preparing for whatever outburst was ready to come out of Oswald's body, Edward's left ear bracing itself, waiting, waiting...

Nothing.

“What?”

Perplexity hits Oswald square in the face as he stood there awkwardly, the hands of broken clockwork ticking away in his brain fitted with the wrong cogs, unable to strike the hour to success at whatever riddle Edward had conjured up. So it had surprised Oswald to hear Edward playing that particular song, the wordless melody bringing sorrow into the room, but also one of fond memories, gratitude. Love.

He had missed this.

Edward remained quiet as the two address each other, signaling for Oswald to continue.

“It's quite alright Ed, just... surprised me is all. Please, continue,” Oswald affirmed, making his way over to his friend, a warm smile edged between his cheeks, eyes curious.

Edward resumed his play, still a choppy rendition of the song, but one without a careless mind. Edward was trying, had learned to somewhat create again what he had known all those years ago, and is showed, Oswald could see that. But who was Edward playing for? Himself? For Oswald?

_Preposterous._

Through his peripherals, Edward spots Oswald, noticing how he was casually leaning on a piece of the piano to the left of Edward. Eyes watched him, the music flowing between them, Oswald claiming ownership to the performance as audience, like a serenade just for the bird.

It was not completely inaccurate.

A sharp mind like Edward's meant precision, his mind and actions working together stubbornly, striving on improvement, acknowledging the correct moment to press down on a key and for how long.

Oswald found it endearing, until noticing something that breaks the mood; a black key splashed with a single tear.

“Ed?” Oswald asked, a plead in his tone, already joining Edward on the stall fit for two.

The music stopped.

Oswald waited for Edward to talk, listening to the shaky breathes and sniffles that grew momentarily before Edward angrily squashed them back down with a inhale.

“Sorry,” Edward apologized, his fingers beginning to twiddle in his lap.

“Whatever for? What's wrong?”

To beat around the bush would be pointless, Oswald deserved the truth, even if it was not the whole truth. Ten years apart was a scary and lonely experience, isolation and worry always on Edward's mind. Even letters were prohibited between the two of them, the GCPD and Arkham brimming with paranoia that the villains would hatch some form of plan to escape. Edward at least had to give them credit for that, knowing that the two of them would certainly have tried, but it did nothing to quench his hatred for either of them, Jim Gordon especially.

A lot could happen in ten years. Oswald could have been abused, even dead, beaten inside the walls of Blackgate, no doubt allowed to happen if the wrong guard was present. Perhaps all the guards would have permitted it. No one liked the Penguin, no one, except Edward.

“I just...” Edward began, turning his head to face Oswald, “missed you, Oswald, missed not having you around. Arkham wasn't kind to me. I always thought about you, pretending you were there, sometimes. I would talk to you. It sounds crazy, I know, but it helped, sort of.”

Oswald gave Edward's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Not at all. Please, tell me more,” he encouraged, a gentle rub of his hand on Edward's shoulder for comfort.

“It's silly but... I use to make origami penguins in there, a lot of them. It kept my hands and mind busy a little, but it mostly eased the loneliness, even if only for the time being. It was like if I made enough of them the little army would materialize into the real you. I wanted to believe that, even though that's logically impossible, but, that's Arkham for you. Sometimes it made it worse though. I could fool myself into thinking you were there sometimes, tell myself it was okay, get caught up in whatever facts and whatnot I was telling you, but other times I knew you weren't there. The guards found out about them, ridiculing me. They... always destroyed them.”

Edward lowered his head, feeling as though the fate of the origami penguins was a failure on his part, like it was his duty to protect them, the only connection he had to Oswald while locked up.

“I wish I could've brought even one with me. However...”

At that, Edward dug into his trouser pocket, pulling out a piece of unused paper, his fingers working at the sides and corners, molding it to give it shape, character, something worthy of importance.

Oswald watched Edward's skilled fingers orchestrate, each folded piece following another until a tiny penguin stood in the palm of Edward's hand, an offering for Oswald to take it up.

“A consolation prize,” Edward smiled sadly, allowed Oswald to gather up his namesake, inspecting it for a moment.

Oswald placed the bird on top of the piano, observing the lonely little thing as it stood at its peak, so much space surrounding it. Alone, like Edward. Like himself.

“He looks lonely,” Oswald stated, slightly addressing Edward.

“He does.”

Oswald hummed contently and began to stand from his seat, leaving behind a confused Edward.

Edward's inquisitive expression watched Oswald delve into his office, returning promptly, hands tucked behind his back as he approached.

“Ed, what you've just told me is awfully flattering, and not at all childish. You were coping with loss and the insanity Arkham brings with it. Believe me, I know, my own experiences in there hellish but practically a cakewalk compared to how long you were inside. Being inside Blackgate allows one much free time, so...”

Whatever Edward was expecting Oswald to have in his hands, it was not this.

Oswald's own origami penguin.

Edward gasped, eyes bugging out his sockets at the mini creation.

Oswald hands it to him, taking pleasure in Edward's still agape mouth, watching him thoroughly inspect the specimen.

“You learned origami?” Edward inquired, his voice glazed in shock that Oswald even would learn such a skill. The fact that it was a penguin too just held so much sentimental value to Edward, despite if Oswald had intended that or not, an origami penguin not being a far-fetched creation for Oswald.

“A little. Took some practice but, I think it came out good. Half the inmates inside didn't want to know me. Probably wise, but it meant I had to take up singular hobbies sometimes. This was one of them.”

“He's wonderful, Oswald!” Edward praised, a gleam in his eyes. He placed the origami penguin next to the other as Oswald resumed his seat.

The two admired the paper birds.

“He has a friend now,” Oswald commented, smiling at the cute pair.

“Yes, he does.” Edward's smile had since fallen.

“He's not alone anymore.”

“No... he's not.” Edward's insides start a war with themselves at the double meaning, wondering if Oswald had intended it.

“You're not alone, Ed,” Oswald says without looking at Edward. “Not anymore. I missed you too, a lot. I want you to know that.” He turns his head, a pained but pleasing smile offered towards his friend.

Edward takes a moment longer to observe the birds.

_I'm not alone._

_I'm not alone._

_I'm not **alone**!_

Edward acted on instinct, an impulse so unlike him, but necessary in the moment, half-crashing into Oswald in a heartfelt hug. Arms encased the neck of his feathery friend, hands a soft touch at Oswald's upper back, soothing light strokes to calm himself, to feel Oswald here, making sure he was real. He wanted to indulge in the feeling as much as possible should Oswald disappear, a keepsake placed in his memory bank to come back to if need be. His chin rested on a shoulder, wanting to bury himself in the crook of Oswald's neck, liquefy himself to seep into everything that was Oswald, hoping the man would read his thoughts and desires. Further intimacies were held back, his heart and head arguing with one another, but thankful that for the most part, he was a head person.

_No. Not yet..._

The hug takes it out of Oswald, registering it as it was happening. He knew Edward not to usually be an impulsive man, but he was far from it to argue, gladly taking any touch Edward was willing to give him. Edward was still feeling incredibly damaged, all the weight on his shoulders pouring off them like waterfalls, bad feelings swept away in its current. Oswald's strong arms encased Edward in reciprocation, his hands smoothing over the back of Edward's jacket in silent communication, a fondness there, lulling him back to wherever his mind went with the caress of his fingers.

The tears start, Oswald knowing damn well how futile it was to try to stop them, the salty substance just waiting behind his eyes for an opportunity to spill. Crying felt good, even silently, granting his heart to breathe, suffocation in his chest a painful ache in longing.

_Ed... Edward..._

Having both had their fill of emotion for now, the two drew back, all smiles and laughs, Oswald wiping at his face, the older tears partially drying, creating an ugly stickiness at his rosy cheeks, before looking at the mini penguins again. Oswald grabbed them, admiring them.

“I'm keeping these. New beginnings and all. A reminder,” he confirmed, placing both birds in one palm, showcasing them to Edward. “Aren't they cute?”

“Y-yes, they are,” Edward replied, his brain one bolt short at the insinuation.

He wondered if he and Oswald could be like them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dining, involuntary (and voluntary, sort of) flirting, some of Ed's childhood explored, more piano sessions, and...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics = thoughts/emphasis on words during dialogue.

Deciding it was a good time for lunch, Oswald suggested rummaging something from the lounge's kitchen. Being without good food for so long called for more than a mere sandwich, the pair going overboard on what they could cook.

Edward especially had missed his love of busying his hands at dishes. One of his many talents, his excitement for flavours, measurements and techniques on how to make the best ones.

“It's science, Oswald!” he confirmed.

Oswald scoffed fondly at the remark, but not in disagreement, taking pleasure in the childlike enthusiasm.

Edward had done most of the work, ushering Oswald to the side at times when Edward had only needed himself for the task at hand. Oswald was eventually shooed away entirely, waiting in the lounge, keeping busy with some paperwork, allowing Edward to work his magic, the element of surprise awaiting Oswald at whatever came out of the swinging doors.

Edward had put together a three-course meal each. He emerged first with the starters; oysters with beef and horseradish jelly. He sets down the plates, watching with interest as Oswald indulges on Edward's cooking skills, praise thrown at him, eating up the words. Once finished, Edward disappeared momentarily, returning with the main courses in hand; rolled-up pieces of crab placed on top of sliced watermelon. The dish was again a hit, Edward never boring of Oswald's voice directed at him.

The spotlight was his forte.

For dessert, chocolate fondue, a selection of strawberries, kiwi, banana, and marshmallows surrounding the centre for dipping purposes. The warm chocolate aroma filled Oswald's nostrils as the food is placed in the centre, enticing his taste buds further. Edward had outdone himself.

“I almost feel guilty letting you do all the work,” he admitted, flashing Edward a teasing smile, a sparkle in his eyes.

“Only almost?” Edward laughed, taking his seat.

“Well, I think I would've gotten in the way of you work. You've done more than enough, thank you, Edward. I'll make it up to you sometime.”

“Nonsense, your friendship is enough.”

_But I want more..._

“Did you know,” he began, picking up a fondue stick to pierce into the flesh of a strawberry, dipping it into the gooey sweetness “that when chocolate is melted,” he withdrew the drenched strawberry for inspection, “the fats inside are released, and taste is a combination of texture and smell, which is why it tastes so good!” Finished talking, he eats it.

He was beaming at the scientific fact, his nature to talk of information too strong, reminiscing of the time he had said something almost identical when dining with Kristen, Lee, and a late Jim.

Oswald took up his own fondue stick. “I did not,” he replied, stabbing his own strawberry, dousing it with chocolate before it hits his tongue.

Heaven.

He hummed in appreciation, chewing on the fruit while gathering up a marshmallow next.

“This is really good,” he voiced, knowing he did not need to, but it never hurt to still speak words that he knew Edward enjoyed.

“Thank you.”

A rotation of sorts is made between what dipping food was chosen next, with no intention of leaving any behind anyway, a couple of strawberries remaining to finish it off. Oswald greedily indulged himself in the little accidents of chocolate that drip off to fall on Edward's chin or rest on his lips, captivated by the way Edward's tongue swiped over his lips and the sucking of his fingers. Another version of Oswald is drawn in his mind, bolder, lustful, dominant, hauling from his seat, stomping over to Edward to grab that stupid face of his and taste those chocolate-coated lips for himself.

_Bastard._

Edward grabbed hold of a fresh fondue stick, a chocolate-dipped strawberry at its tip, extending it to Oswald's face with a smile.

“I can feed myself,” Oswald assured, an eyebrow raised.

“I am aware,” Edward replied, bobbing the strawberry in Oswald's mouth alluringly, enticing him to snap it up like prey.

_Two can play at this game..._

Oswald delicately took the fruit between his teeth, biting down with deliberate slowness, the squelching noise of flesh being sliced almost obscenely. He makes sure some chocolate deviates from the rest to use as leverage, giving him the excuse to clean himself up. He devoured the strawberry, the chocolate residue a brown sheen against his pink lips. Up until this point he had maintained eye contact with Edward, noticing the man was giving him equal attention at the actions that were happening, until Oswald pretended to notice the chocolate he had reserved for this moment, feigning innocence for exploitation he knew would grant him a place in hell, not caring in the slightest.

Some things were just worth it.

He lightly brushed a fingertip over his lips to collect said chocolate to further his eating, sucking at the tip teasingly with the swirling of his tongue. His eyes were half lidded, looking in the distance at nothing in particular, pretending that this was a casual matter, then releasing his finger with a sloppy smack of his lips. He nonchalantly glanced at Edward, noticing that he was still watching, mouth slightly agape, a puzzled expression.

“Good?” Edward asked, an attempt to bring normality back into the room.

“ _Very,”_ Oswald replied, the word drawn out all too sultry for Edward's expectations, his demeanour confident yet casual, owning his victory.

Edward nodded, finishing the last remaining contents from the bowls, before clearing it away.

_What the hell was that?_

  


\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  


“You're getting better at this.”

“One never really forgets.”

Edward had taken up his seat again for a piano session, the glare of the late afternoon sunset shining through the lounge's windows, a hue of orange hitting the white keys in a fluorescent glow. Oswald sat beside him for moral support for the time being, gaining enough enjoyment watching Edward play, and Edward just owned that spotlight, quite literally as the evening grew closer, the leftover daylight donning purely on his figure.

He was made to shine and does he ever. Oswald was smitten.

“How long have you been playing?”

The keys stop.

Oswald gave Edward a moment, until he had realized the potential mistake at what subject would be brought up; Edward's childhood.

“Um...”

“It's okay, you don't have to tell me,” Oswald gestured, fixing his mistake as best he could.

“It's fine, I want you to know.”

Oswald could not deny how flattered he felt.

“I use to play with my mother as a kid. I was... seven or so when I started playing. I actually wanted to be a pianist, can you believe that?” The smile on Edward's was a cherished one, especially in conversations that Oswald knew were going to get worse. A glimmer of light in the dark.

“That seems so... unlike you,” Oswald confessed, laughing a little at the thought. Edward, a pianist. But he did shine. It was oddly perfect in a way.

“I use to play while my father was out, usually drinking or banging up some side chick he'd have at the time. He didn't approve, called it a ' _sissy's hobby_ ', but it didn't stop me, or my mother. We often got away with it.”

_Often,_ Oswald thought.

“But, sometimes he'd catch us and... it didn't go well to say the least. He was horrible to both of us. The final time he nearly smashed my fingers with the piano's key cover.”

The image too real in Oswald's mind, gasping in horror at the thought of not only a child at the hands of such abuse, but Edward, _his_ Edward. So perfect and foolish yet adorably charming, ensnaring Oswald's heart in a vicious grip that was painful but captivating, a place of loneliness and cherishment blended into a mix Oswald never finding himself to escape from.

“That's awful, Edward! I'm so sorry you had to endure such hardships,” he whispered. He resisted the urge to hug him, not sure what Edward wanted.

His eyes wanted to split, the anger behind them bursting with ugliness, wanting to bore a portal in the middle of the room, traveling to that exact moment to kill the man for even thinking of laying a hand on Edward and his loving mother.

Children often deserved better.

“Thank you. So, I gave up, went into forensics instead. Turned out for the best, in a way.”

Oswald was taken aback by that.

“How- how can you say that, Ed? He was awful to you, and your mother.”

“True but, I likely wouldn't have met you,” Edward confirmed, his smile hidden behind a sadness there, warm but inviting.

Oswald thinks back to the moment the two became properly acquainted. The death of Oswald's mother and Kristen had brought them together, a string of fate laid at their feet to trip over, falling into each other's lives.

Funny how tragedy can bring people together.

“I guess not.”

Edward stroked at the keys back and forth, fiddling with the corners.

“But those are bad memories I can override with enough good ones, and playing with you helps with that. Would you be willing to make more memories with me, Oswald?”

_Yes!_

“Of course,” Oswald says softly. “Anything.”

Edward resumed back to his old self, all teeth and ego. Infuriating, but entirely Edward. Oswald loved it.

“Have you ever played 'We'll Meet Again' by Vera Lynn?” Edward curiously asked.

Oswald shook his head.

“No, but I know the song.”

“Would you like to learn?” Edward was just itching for Oswald to say yes, Oswald could tell.

_Memories..._

“Yes, I would.”

Oswald was feeling a little tired, but more time with Edward was worth it. Memories were nice, sentimental as he were, getting caught up in them in times of peace, but also in sorrow or loneliness, the memories serving as a coping mechanism to strive through the times more easily.

Edward flipped open the sheet music, the song he had found among the variety of songs during an earlier inspection, and began to play.

Oswald intently watched which keys were pressed, but Edward's hands were incredibly distracting, noticing the flow of his hands, up, down, left, right. Fingers gracing over the keys feather-light, how each finger dipped into each key. Edward had notably long fingers, much like the rest of him, slim and elegant. Beautiful. Oswald imagined what it would be like to hold them lovingly, entwining his own fingers together with them, stroking the back of Edward's hands, Edward doing the same to him.

“What do you think?”

“Huh?”

“Would you like to have a go?”

Edward took it on himself to answer his own question, taking Oswald's hands in his own, guiding them in a slow rhythm. Edward seemed content letting it carry out like this, so Oswald allowed it to happen, choosing not to focus on actually learning how to play, happy to let Edward do the work while Oswald read some of the lyrics to the song on the sheet in tune with the music, Edward humming along.

_'We'll meet again_

_Don't know where_

_Don't know when_

_But I know we'll meet again_

_Some sunny day'_

Oswald's heart pangs, his insides bubbling with love and panic, reminded how much the song was like them, how they had literally been to war to only be ripped from each other cruelly. Now they were together, a piece however missing from the equation to complete it, coming full circle, but fearing rejection.

Oswald wanted to kiss him.

The thought was frightening but the moment was perfect, the two of them practically in an embrace, the song playing that resonated with sweethearts on their lover's return.

_I have to do it._

“Ed... stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't know how to end it, so ending it like this lolololol!
> 
> I'll address this issue later. Tee hee!
> 
> Comments are hugely appreciated. 💕


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the elements in the later parts of this chapter might be M rated, I'm not sure (nothing is explicit tho), so let me know if I should change the rating of the fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics = thoughts/emphasis on words during dialogue.

_I must be crazy!_

“What is it, Oswald?”

The softness in Edward's voice was such a comfort for Oswald, an open invitation for him to stay.

_Leave leave leave!_

Oswald wiggled his hands free from Edward's, an ache in his chest and a desire to distance himself from the man.

_But I want to... stay here._

“I'm... quite tired, actually,” he lied, the shame and frightening feeling at his core, shrinking his entire being. Just a scared little bird, broken.

_Coward._

“Oh.”

Oswald hated himself to hear such disappointment in Edward's tone. It was an up in the air rejection, a person reacquainted with another just the night before after years apart, wanted to leave, because he was tired? A poor excuse, surely Edward could see that, how Oswald would rather be alone than spend memories with each other that they had vowed minutes before.

“No duet tonight then. Check,” Edward nonchalantly said, removing himself from Oswald's space. “Come on then mister.”

_Duet?_

“Duet?” Oswald asked, mimicking out loud, interested.

Edward nodded.

“I thought it would be nice. At the manor those times were rare, with you being mayor and kingpin in one. Understandable of course. Business first.”

Oswald's heart leapt to his eyes, pupils brimming with want. He wondered if Edward could read them, see how much he meant to Oswald, how much his existence was treasured. Given Edward's his history at picking up signals, chances were probably low. A smart brain like Edward's often missed the simplest of things.

“I do miss those times,” Oswald breathed, reminiscing of their younger selves.

“You were a good singer, as I recall,” Edward complimented.

Oswald scoffed.

“You must recall differently then.”

“I-”

Oswald watched the battle unfold on Edward's face, a war inside that head of his, trying to find the correct words. Edward excelled in speaking, his mind crammed with endless knowledge, phrases, _riddles_ , the ability to think so quickly so astonishing that Oswald wanted to drown in all of them. Yet, now Edward struggled.

“I _do_ remember differently. Sort of.”

Oswald's head tilted to the side, mouth pouted slightly in question.

“What does _that_ mean?” he asked.

Edward seemed lost, again to find himself, his brows knotting together in frustration, lips ajar in preparation for the words that never follow out of them. Until they eventually do.

“It's a doozy, just so you know. Bad memories.” A gentle warning.

“For you?”

“For both of us.”

“I can handle it. Can _you?_ You don't have to tell me,” Oswald reassured.

He really sought to know what Edward was thinking, but he would never pressure him. Edward was allowed to keep his secrets, forever or within his desired time frame, that was for him to decide.

“I know that, but I brought it up for a reason. I'm just letting you know beforehand.”

Oswald appreciated it nonetheless.

“Back at the pier, the first time that is, when I shot you, I immediately regretted it, so much so that I resorted to drastic measures. I lost myself, _immensely_. I was without guidance, without you as my best friend. I... took things,” Edward wavered, watching Oswald's shocked gaze on him at this revelation.

“What sort of things?” Oswald asked softly, the answer scaring him, sure of himself that he had a good idea where this was going.

“Drugs. Methamphetamine to be specific. It didn't help with sleep but... it did enable me to see you. You were always a pretentious ass, but it was still oddly comforting. You tried to give me advice, but I never listened to any of it. I looked for a mentor to guide me, but none of them fit the bill, not like they did you.”

Oswald found flattery in that knowledge. They were often always made for each other in such ways, except in the way Oswald desired.

_Perhaps if things had been different..._

“So what happened? There was a moment I sang?”

“Yup,” Edward answered with a nod.

“What did I _sing_?” He wondered, interested.

Edward shoulders deflated, the outlines on his figure spelling one of uneasiness.

“It's not exactly something I want to revisit. Sorry.”

“So much so that you recall it being something you wanted to remember?”

Unwilling to talk about the subject but his eyes a calmness there, they shifted at the realization, the web he had designed and laid at his feet, only to foolishly step in it, caught. Oswald had caught him, unable to run. He had run his whole life, a way of staying safe, pretend that what was happening was only imaginary, hiding behind his ego, its size too big to ignore, mentally squashing any insecurities into dust below his shoes.

But running never makes problems truly go away, it puts them on hold, an inner hourglass inside one's mind, the sand slipping away, and Edward thought that perhaps he should let himself slip away with it.

“You sang 'Wake Up Alone' by Amy Winehouse.” He figured why not see where this road led them.

Oswald blinked a few times, processing the thought, imagining himself singing _that_. So sensual, _erotic_.

“That's... quite something,” he voiced, bewilderment eating at his brain. “But why?”

“I'm... not entirely sure.” Not every road had to lead somewhere, choosing to look away from Oswald at the keys in front of him.

The lie reflected off Oswald's suit, dispersing in the air around them, the words holding no meaning to them. He decided to dig a little further.

“This hallucination, what was happening exactly?”

He intently watched Edward fidget with the frame of his glasses, a habit all too common in him, a sign of nervousness in an unforgiving coat laced across his skin, some colour added to his face.

“You wore a tuxedo, black. White gloves, a top hat...”

There was more Edward was not telling him, that much was obvious.

“ _And?_ ”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Edward blurted.

“Well, we are!” Oswald was good at being stubborn.

“Oswald I-”

“Was I singing _for_ you?”

Edward's face tensed further, his posture rigid, mouth a tight line to ground himself.

Oswald waited for something to happen, for Edward to talk, to _move_ , but he just sat there, a stone statue, detaching himself from the conversation like he was invisible. Sometimes, silence was answer enough, words not always necessary, filling up space in a useless clutter, ruining a mood. Sometimes, action was required instead, and perhaps that was what Edward needed right now, so Oswald does his best to try to carry out this conversation one way or the other. He gently took hold of Edward's right hand in both of his, a starting point to see if Edward would allow the light intimacy. He brought the hand over towards himself a little, holding it close to his knee, caressing the back of Edward's fingers with one of his thumbs.

Edward turned his head at the mini activity, eyes in a loving but slightly terrifying entrance at what was happening. He had known he wanted this, wanted Oswald to just shut up with asking him questions and do something else with that mouth, his hands, his everything, so long as Edward was at the centre of his attention. The cute gesture of having his hand held was a good move, his lips edged with a smile, fond, lighting up his cheeks that Oswald found made Edward impossibly more beautiful.

Oswald found the encouragement he needed to cup a warm cheek when Edward met his eyes, fingers brushing against the soft flap of Edward's left ear. He saw the universe in them, the veins scattered in intricate ripples to escape the black holes sitting at the centre, consuming him.

Edward owned that luxury.

In return, Edward allowed himself up for Oswald, draping his own hand over the hand at his cheek, holding Oswald there. Needy fingers squeezed in-between Oswald's, filling the spaces of the stationary hand. No gaps were allowed, the love radiating from their bodies trapped between them with no air holes, escape impossible.

“Ed?” Oswald's throat gets clogged with his own heart, thinking he might choke on it.

This was real.

“Yes?” Edward wondered if his brain might spill out of his ears in a soft mush.

Fingers feather down away from his cheek to his neck, less and less touch against his skin in its travel, Edward missing the contact, but gets replaced with Oswald's tips beneath his chin, barely holding him there, just touching as if holding a butterfly.

A good trade indeed.

“I'm not tired anymore.”

“Were you ever?” The little shit had the audacity to smile.

“No.”

With that, Oswald drew his face in, eyes drawing closed in, a curtain for his emotions, a gentle lure in his fingertips that had Edward doing the same, their lips meeting in the middle.

Chaste. Soft. Delicate. Treating the experience like new stained glass, fearing anything louder could crack it, the sharp tiny fragments shattered at their feet, hearts dropped on top of the spiked debris, spilling the pile with red.

The fearsome Riddler and Penguin, a transformation of their younger selves; shy, naive, careful, before all the pain. Hidden from the outside world, those parts could come out, an audience designed only for the other.

But glass could mend itself, break down and become something new, something better. Their relationship had been broken down and rebuilt so much they were experts at this. No one could match them, to understand them.

Taking it up a notch, Oswald abandoned the hand beneath them, bringing both of his hands to cradle Edward's cheeks, steadying the man, the kiss slowly growing into something more affectionate, desperate, pleased when Edward does the same, hands digging into his shoulders.

Oswald knew he was crying, a silent weep, ever the sentimentalist. He opened his eyes when he heard a strangled noise, noticing the distraught look on Edward's face, the sight gutting Oswald through the chest like a knife.

“Ed? What's wrong? Talk to me.”

Edward sniffed hard through his nose, gathering his up his breaths in a straight line, linear, not the scattered disarray going on inside his throat. One, two, three, four...

“I just... feel so much right now, and it scares me. I- I don't want to lose you,” he croaked, feeling like the little boy he once was.

Oswald wanted to snap in two, heart crushed at Edward's pained confession. Oswald understood all too well. He brought their foreheads together, feeling the sweat there.

“Eddie, my sweet... you aren't going to lose me. I'll always be at your side.”

A newfound strength surged through Edward's skin, desperation laid beneath its layers, shoving all of it into the pulp of his lips, kissing Oswald with them. As he does, with the aid of his hands pushing down into the bench, he lifted his lower part of his body up enough to swing a leg over the other side of it, enabling him to face Oswald completely. More comfortable, he scooted closer, shame tossed aside.

He was like a bitch in heat.

Oswald, more than happy to oblige, lips laced with a coat of danger, the thrill to if Edward could handle the burn. Settling two greedy hands at Edward's waist, he partially shoved Edward's back towards the piano, keys gnawing at his side.

Edward's hands circled around Oswald's own waist, enjoying the softness, but distracted at the roundness of Oswald's stomach against him, not to mention the attention his neck was receiving. One of his hands wandered aimlessly to the side, hovering over a set of keys. An assortment of random notes played as he pushed down, the unruly rumble escaping between his fingers, startling them both, a realization hanging overhead.

“Ed... as much as I'd love to _take you_ up against my piano, perhaps we should relocate somewhere more suitable?” Oswald gestured, a whisper, lips not even an inch apart.

Edward blushed at the vulgarity, absolutely loving the idea.

“Save _that_ idea for another time,” he says in a rasping tone.

“Eddie you-” Oswald choked, wide eyes taking into the sight of a dishevelled Edward Nygma. “You know what? I'll hold you to that.” Yanking himself up, pulling Edward with him, they hurry inside Oswald's office, a private section of the room leading to a more intimate setting.

They had a long night ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think when intimate, Oswald likes to refer to Ed as 'Eddie' more than 'Ed'.
> 
> I had some trouble imagining their positions and stuff, making sure it made sense and was practical. Had a little bit of help from the Discord, so thank you! Hopefully it reads okay.
> 
> Kudos and comments are my life source!
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> SEMI IMPORTANT NOTE:
> 
> If you would like to read the sex scene, just click 'next work' and it'll take you there! 👌 It's a separate fic, to keep things tidy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief, watered down version of what happened the night before, some fluff, doubts, and a certain Commissioner.
> 
> Again, some M rated elements, but I think it still keeps in the T area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEMI IMPORTANT NOTE (if you haven't seen it already):
> 
> I wrote the sex scene as a separate fic AFTER writing this chapter, so if you want to read it, just click 'next work'! 👌
> 
> You can read it before OR after reading this chapter. You decide.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Italics = thoughts/emphasis on words during dialogue.

The two origami penguins Oswald had taken in for safe keeping stood side by side on the bedside table, a little aviary, undisturbed. They were alone no more, forced to bear witness the events taking place. Everything was so hurriedly done, like the world was on fire. At one point, one of the penguins had fallen over in the man-made earthquake under their feet, and no one would notice the out of place bird until the headboard violently banging against the wall had ceased.

He laid there, beak against the wood, waiting for someone to fix him, but the invaders were too engrossed with each other, giving each other praise, the sounds of whimpering and reassurances reaching his non-existent ears.

  


\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  


The morning reached Edward first, at least, he imagined it was morning. No windows in this room. The feeling of waking up with the weight of Oswald against him served a peculiar thought, a dream he was chasing, a dream he could not wake up to, stuck in that loop of never-ending running. He awoke with Oswald's head resting against his shoulder, feathery black locks tickling his cheek, breaths on his skin. Edward could scarcely believe his luck. Oswald Cobblepot, curled up next to him to greet the day after a night of passion. Edward cannot stop himself from smiling as he took in the sight, brushing some hair out of Oswald's face that covered his closed eyes, examining his beautiful lashes and the look of pure peace that painted his face.

Edward checked the clock next to the bed; seventeen minutes to eleven. Most days he would have been up and ready well before then, but most days had not followed a night like the one they had just experienced. Exceptions could be made, and hopefully, would continue to do so if repeats of last night's events could occur in his future. _Their_ future.

What a weird concept.

The pair were exceptional at dancing around each other, never a foot in the wrong place. Or was it right place? Edward especially could convince himself, try to anyway. He remembered all those years ago about love being unencumbered, only to result in both falling for the other. Oswald was very vocal on the matter, be it too late, but he knew what he wanted and planned to act on it.

Edward was always a man who sought to see his plans from start to finish. Nothing could go unfinished. He became the Riddler, and he hated Oswald, hated how dangerous he was, hated how Oswald had lied and manipulated him, allowing someone like Edward to believe he had an actual friend, only to be used.

Both a mix of fire and ice in a dangerous combo that should not exist, the formula was all wrong. Edward was sure of it, because in this very moment, he felt more alive than ever. Gotham's most feared criminal, lying next to him, an impossible reality. His form in sleep mode, recharging the energy lost when pouring all his love into Edward.

Quite literally.

The Penguin's notorious passionate nature was not left at the doorstep.

Oswald was hesitant at first to touch him in such a way, treating Edward like one of his china tea sets. Edward was more experienced in the ways of love making, even if just slightly, but it was enough to guide Oswald through it. Edward took initiative at first until Oswald was participating on a much higher level, a need to not let Edward do all the work, a need to put himself in a position where he was actively doing something. He would ask if he was doing it right, giving Edward his flavour on how things were done, knowing it was him that had done it.

There were absolutely no complaints.

Edward felt Oswald stir, groaning as his body adjusts to the feeling of being awake, the temptation to just snuggle back against Edward's frame and let sleep take him again so strong, but fought the urge. He moved his head enough to get a better look at Edward's face, blinking up at him.

“Morning,” he greeted, the tiredness heard in his voice.

“Hello there,” Edward replied, softer than what was considered _normal_ for the Riddler, but owning it. Oswald had the privilege of knowing that side of him.

Edward waited for Oswald to say something, expecting a question or some form of conversation, but nothing happened, only the fluttering of eyelashes as Oswald looked at him. A speck of concern made itself known just as Oswald hoisted himself up into a semi-sitting position, instinct overriding all else, momentarily banning words that would spoil the peace as Oswald kissed Edward on the lips.

Light, lingered just enough that Edward could have reacted, had his brain not short-circuited.

The idiot was in love.

The butterflies in his stomach wanted out, flapping their wings inside his ribcage and edging up to his throat, high on love.

“The almighty Riddler, speechless. Is a kiss all it takes?” Oswald cooed adorably.

Edward smirked back, a challenge.

“I don't know,” he answered playfully. “We may have to practice more to collect sufficient data to be sure.”

“Nerd.” Oswald scoffed, the insult lacking any vindictiveness.

“Do you object?”

Oswald knew what this was; an excuse to have Edward's ego stroked, a seek of approval, compliments he could wear on his skin.

“No, of course not. You have a brilliant mind, Ed. It's your most attractive quality,” he admired, knowing he could have Edward putty in his hands for a second round of sensual activity if he wanted to.

Another time then.

Edward's face glimmered at the praise, his smile sparkling that illuminated his expression further, emphasized further by his cheekbones. He says nothing, opting for a moment of silence too as he grabbed one of Oswald's hands, kissing the back of it, holding it in front of his face that allowed him to nuzzle at it with his nose.

“I love you, Oswald. I hope you know that.” He hoped this was not a dream, disappointment waiting for his conciousness to catch up with him.

“I do, Ed. Once upon a time I wouldn't have believed you, but I've seen inside your heart, your fears and emotions. The real Edward Nygma. I feel like I've known you my whole life. My mother always believed in life always giving us one true love. You were it, Ed. You're special to me, you always have been.” Oswald poured his heart out, bloody and wounded, but real as the gloomy skies of Gotham. All cards on the table.

“Thank you,” Edward replied, giving Oswald's hand one last pat. “Breakfast?”

“That would be delightful.”

  


\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  


“Oswald Cobblepot, I'm arresting you for threatening the life on a GCPD officer. Namely, mine.”

Jim fucking Gordon.

Oswald knew it would come, but he expected better of Jim, storming in on his property throwing, in the eyes of the law, accusations. How the man became Commissioner Oswald will never know.

“On what proof?” he asked, snide. “Looking for another reason to lock me up, Jim? I did my time. Why don't you do something useful as _Commissioner,_ like bringing in the bootleg Count Dracula gliding over our fair city?”

Jim knew he only had his word to back him up, despite Oswald's reputation and Jim being a cop. Legally, Oswald could not be touched, but even if he could, Oswald had bought himself enough lawyers and judges as a safety net. He delighted in the way Jim's face griminess like he had eaten a slice of lemon, the truth of the reality evident; it was only them at the pier. Not witnesses, no crime.

Still, this was Gotham city, which often always meant a favour and a blind eye were in ear's length.

“Edward Nygma, last seen strung up with you by a lampost-”

“By _that_ bat! You see Jim, _we're_ the victims here!” Oswald interrupted.

“Really? You helped an Arkham inmate escape police custody, Oswald. Not very law-abiding of you, wouldn't you say?”

Oswald was close to ripping Jim's eyes out, lips set in a scowling pout.

“Remember when I took the fall for you for Galavan, after _you_ shot him? You were always good at using me, Jim. I guess that's what you had to do, wasn't it. Step over the smaller people to get where you are now. Bravo, Jim!”

The need to smoke itched at his nerves. Instead, he gets a whiff of Jim's aftershave. Awful brand.

“Cut the crap, Oswald. Tell me where Ed is, and maybe I'll let this while charade slide,” he tried to bribe, not afraid to show teeth, the result not having the desired affect on Oswald.

“I wouldn't know, Jim. We parted ways. I helped an old friend, yes, because that's what friends do, they offer each other favours.” Oswald semi-circled Jim, giving him access to Jim's ear. “We were friends once, weren't we, Jim? Pity you had to squander that,” he finished with, walking way in boredom. “So, will that be all, or do you require a drink? There's a coffee shop just down the road from here. A good Commissioner needs to stay awake in this line of work.” The urge to be petty could not be squished.

“I'll see you around, Oswald. I'll be in touch,” Jim confirmed, walking towards the exit.

“I'm counting down the seconds as we speak!” Oswald followed up with, thankful to be finally rid of the man.

_Imbecile..._

A few staff were on site, and Oswald waited for clear word that Jim was off the premises. He ventured to the secret room inside his office, unlocking the door and making his way inside. He found Edward nervously sitting on the bed, not sure what else to do with himself other than wait.

“He's gone,” Oswald stated, watching Edward's posture drain in relief.

“What did he say?”

“Oh you know, typical Jim being an absolute menace in my backside. _'I'm arresting you for pointing a gun at me, where's Ed?'_ blah blah,” he mimicked. “Needless to say, he has nothing on me, or _you_. For now.”

“What did you say about me?” Edward asked, a hint of doubt clouding his thoughts as he watched Oswald pull out his cigarette holder from his jacket pocket and lighting it.

Oswald rolled his eyes as he released a puff.

“I told him I didn't know where you were. I don't know if Jim believed me, but he has no proof.”

Edward should have known, especially after the talk not even two hours before, but Oswald, yet again, sacrificed himself for Edward's safety.

“You-”

_'You gave up your revenge for me?'_

_'You paid Hugo Strange to save me?'_

He would have done the same in a heartbeat.

Still...

“You didn't give me up?”

He knew it sounded absurd as soon as it left his mouth, evident by Oswald's perplexed expression, smoke holder loosely hanging between two fingers, mouth half agape.

“Of course I didn't! Eddie, I- You didn't think I would, did you?”

Those days should have been over, _were_ over, but time could change a person. Oswald spent ten years locked in a grey box, pissed at the world, as he rightfully should be. Edward would not be surprised if Oswald left his heart behind those bars.

“Sorry. We haven't seen each other in so long, and Blackgate surely had a deep effect on you. I wasn't sure if things might've changed.”

“Ed, we _had_ sex!”

Edward goes wide-eyed at the statement, like it was a revelation for him, staring at a wall as he processed the information, and he knew he was blushing.

“Well, when you put it like that...”

_It was so good too..._

He heard Oswald tsk, tapping the end of his smoke holder at a nearby ashtray.

“Why don't we make it official? It's early but... I'm game, if you're up for it.”

_Is he suggesting...?_

“Up for what?”

The last thing he wanted was to come across like a horny teenager if he was wrong, but the thought settled in the mind when Oswald placed his partially smoked cigarette on top of the ashtray, invading Edward's personal space by eagerly kissing him. Edward remembered to kiss back this time, his hands taking a tight hold on Oswald's waist.

_Oswald Oswald Oswald!_

When they part, Edward's mind caught up with him, embarrassed, but the need to speak his concern.

“Ozzie, I don't- I'm... still recovering,” he confessed, feeling every bit flustered.

Oswald chuckled.

“I meant... me this time.”

Oswald looked so pretty when his cheeks flushed.

“Oh! Yes, of course!”

Oswald remained dormant, allowing Edward to guide him over to the bed with a gentle hold on his hand.

Round two came earlier than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter might be the last.
> 
> Remember, just click 'next work' if you want to read the sex scene. 👌


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald buys Ed a present, and the two mingle in the newly opened Iceberg Lounge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter, and the shortest, but I think it's a nice stopping point instead of dragging it out more.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Italics = thoughts/emphasis on words during dialogue.

“A purple suit?” Edward asked.

The lounge was in full working order now, stacked to the brim with what Oswald would hope to be future patrons within his business. It had been a week, and he was thankful Jim had not dropped by in the meantime to embarrass himself once again with empty words and a list of laws that meant nothing in this city. Oswald was half expecting the man to crash his opening night of the lounge like he had years ago with opening the Iceberg Lounge the first time, or showing up just before Oswald could finish Falcone off or ruining his chances of taking those helicopter supplies for himself during No Man's Land. The man had _infuriatingly_ impeccable timing, and it put Oswald on edge a little.

“Try it on,” Oswald suggested, enthusiasm very present in his words.

Edward inspected the suits fabric; wool, silk, and linen. Not inexpensive. The colour gave it a subtle shine in the light, but nothing that made him truly stand out. Still, he would never turn down a gift from Oswald, only that the colour was an interesting choice. He began to undress with Oswald still present, no shame between the two of them now, a few of their nights having ended in a similar fashion to their first one together. As he slipped on the trousers and jacket over his shirt, he found the fabric highly comfortable, fitting in just the right places. The two had their measurements done for a row of their iconic attires to be made. It seemed that Oswald made a note for this particular piece of clothing to also be made among them. Finished with changing, he inspected himself in the mirror, turning slightly to view himself from both sides and a cheeky look at his bottom.

What a handsome devil.

“It looks good on you, does it not?”

It did, but a particular nagging in his head would not relent.

“It does but... why purple? Not to sound ungrateful, but I feel it isn't a coincidence. It's your signature colour after all.”

“That's because it's _not_ , Ed,” Oswald laughed, sitting on the bed as he looked at Edward through the mirror's reflection. “Ever since I saw you wearing my jacket back at the safe house at breakfast, I thought how good the colour looked on you. This is your fault.”

Edward supposed he could call that a win in his books.

“Oh?” he teased, his posture slackening as he playfully stroked at a piece of the fabric, eyeing back at Oswald through the mirror. “So this is for your benefit?”

“You could say that.” There was no use denying it, nor did he want to. “The moon doesn't shine every night.”

Edward's eyebrows began to furrow as he turned to face Oswald completely. “What does _that_ mean?”

Oswald's eyes darken at the question, a wave of possession bleeding into him. “It means you don't have to be a green beacon everywhere you walk. Sometimes it's nice to blend in, and when we're in the lounge, fewer people will leave you alone if you aren't looking like an oversized mint.”

Jealousy could be an ugly thing, but the word ' _we're_ ' said enough. This was not ugly jealousy, but a possession Edward could work with, and welcome.

“You want me all to yourself, is that it?” Edward held nothing back in his suggestive tone, nor did he hide how much he was loving this.

He lived for the stage, every camera and light on him as he performed for his audience, but he was willing to make sacrifices. Edward enjoyed his secrets, like the hidden soundproof room in Oswald's office that no one knew about where everything changed between the two of them.

“Ed, I want you shining by my side in the midst of the riffraff, but people will bother you, _us_. It'd be nice to mingle mostly undisturbed, just the two of us.”

“So _yes_...”

“Oh absolutely.” Oswald was enjoying this just as much, taking pleasure in letting Edward know how much he meant to him.

Of course, the sentiment went both ways.

“Well aren't _I_ the lucky fellow,” Edward beamed, enjoying his very own spotlight, put together by the nature of their relationship.

Oswald stood up, his limp following him in his stride as he examined the suit more up close, more personal. Edward owned the colour green, the hue that signified of something fresh, young, lush, and as inviting as the tail feathers of a peacock, dazzling in front of one's eyes to be noticed. Like newly discovered emerald in a mining excavation among the boring drab of greys and blacks. That was Edward. That being said, purple did wonders for him as well.

Oswald reached out to touch the fabric himself, smoothing both hands over the creases of Edward's shoulders before wrapping his arms around his neck.

“That makes two of us,” he expressed, swooning over his man. “I'm so lucky to have you.”

He craned his neck, reaching up towards those lips. Edward was so damn tall, all the way up there, but the smooches were worth it, met halfway with Edward's assistance. He enjoyed the tickling of fingers at his waist, the cushioning flesh hidden away by his garments welcoming their touch. When they broke apart, Edward spoke his own mind.

“I feel the same.”

Still caught in Oswald's embrace, enjoying the closeness, he was compelled to bring Oswald closer, wrapping his arms around him until he felt the plush of Oswald's stomach against him. So soft and inviting, always wanting to hug his bird from behind, rubbing his hands over the bump like a proud parent, or hugging from the front like this, feeling it on a more personal level. The touch around his neck left him, giving him the indication to distance himself as well.

“Meet me when you're ready.”

With that, Oswald left Edward to his own devices.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What would you like to drink, Mr. Penguin?” a waiter had asked as he approached the pair.

“Give me a Coffee Butterscotch Liqueur.” Oswald watched the man scribble that down on the notepad hanging around his neck.

“And for sir?”

_Sir_. Edward liked the sound of that.

“A kiwi elderflower cocktail.”

The man jotted that down before leaving to procure the order.

He returned a few minutes later, handing them their chosen beverages. They both took a sip, Edward enjoying the refreshing fruity taste while Oswald indulged in his caffeinated cream.

“It turned out nice, didn't it?” Oswald gestured to the lounge. The place was packed.

The two had taken a seat on one of the booths, watching the hustle and bustle of paying customers.

“It certainly did. Congratulations, Oswald.” Edward held up his glass, proposing Oswald to do the same.

Oswald does, clinking their glasses together in a mutual celebratory ringing.

Being the first night open, it was customary for Oswald to shake hands here and there on his opening. It was unavoidable, but it was only with certain individuals, leaving the two mostly alone to spend time together.

They passed the time with idle chitchat, from the lounges appearance to the customers in it. Edward made several remarks on some people's attire, Oswald finding the humour in that and the little ways Edward's face changed, like the wiggle of his nose in disgust at people's fashion choices.

A second beverage in and Edward was feeling completely relaxed, making himself comfortable by propping up his legs to sprawl over the booth, stretching the tension out of them.

“Ed!”

“What?”

Oswald motioned at Edward's legs, indicating the act inappropriate.

Edward took it as a challenge.

“I'm not allowed?” he inquired, taking a swig of his drink as he made eye contact with Oswald.

“Well, you _shouldn't_ ,” Oswald affirmed. He sounded a little annoyed, but not angry.

“But what if I _want_ to?” Edward wore his most irritating grin, a flirtatious dapple in his voice.

He knew he could get away with this.

“Then... I'll just have to punish you.” Oswald knew he had taken the bait, gladly playing Edward's game.

“Promise?”

The sparkling in Edward's eyes made Oswald feel like he had lost this game. It became even worse when Edward manoeuvred himself so his back was snug against Oswald's chest, leaning on him like a partial embrace.

“Ed, as much as I like you wearing this suit, I have no qualms with it being on my bedroom floor.”

“So what are you waiting for?”

The two down the rest of their drinks without a care. Neither of them were sure if anyone saw the duo huddling up with one another, the question up in the air for someone else to catch and solve as they both breeze past groups of people.

“Mr. Penguin!” a woman half shouted. “A moment please?”

“A little busy right now,” he answered in a hurry, his flustered cheeks dabbed with a hint of red as he closed the door to his office behind him and Edward.

The woman stood there slightly perplexed, somewhat exasperated that she had missed her chance to speak with Oswald. She returned to her group, no Penguin in tow, disappointed.

“Where is he?”

“He went inside his office. I think he was in the middle of doing something.”

Oh, he was definitely doing _something_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Look at all them words! Did I write that? *dies* I'm glad to get this story out of the way, but I had heaps of fun writing it!
> 
> Thank you everyone who enjoyed this, especially the ones who comment (you the real ones!)
> 
> Stick around for a potential nsfw one-shot sequel to this story.
> 
> [P.S I had this BEAUTIFUL piece commissioned by Ynngaa of their first kiss!](https://ynngaa.tumblr.com/post/615319971893002240/this-is-my-favorite-scene-from-fanfic-keys-and)
> 
> P.S.S If you missed it, and like nsfw content, be sure to click 'next work' to read the missing scene/chapter that goes between chapter 7 and 8.


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